


Surviving the Interview Process

by MiladyDragon



Series: Dragon-Verse: Series Two [11]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/M, Interviews, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-03 14:12:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1071394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiladyDragon/pseuds/MiladyDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick Everett Delaware thought he might actually be interviewing for his dream job...if he knew what that job really was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go! This is the story where we get to meet our new team member. I do hope you like him. 
> 
> Also, there are five other OC's in this story, however since I've made rather a big deal about reincarnation later in this universe I thought it would be fun to base these on known characters. So, I've decided that, whoever can guess first just who all five of them were originally, I would write them something using whatever prompt they'd like to see and in whatever universe they'd enjoy seeing me write.

****

**_29 July 2008_ **

****

****

Patrick Everett Delaware woke up quickly, a learned response from his time in the US Army and the FBI. His eyes checked his surroundings even as his hand slid under his pillow to find his gun, and he sat up on the side of the far-too comfortable bed he’d crawled into last night, his feet sinking into the carpet just slightly.  He couldn’t help but wriggle his toes at the plushness and enjoy it just a little too much. 

Nothing was out of place.   Patrick scrubbed his face with his free hand as he fought off the slight jet lag he was still experiencing.  The alarm on his phone had awakened him, and he leaned over and shut it off, placing the gun on the bedside table before getting to his feet and shambling over to the bathroom, hoping a shower would dispel the cobwebs that were busily clogging up his brain and keeping it from functioning properly.

The bathroom was just as high-end as the rest of the suite – a suite! – he’d been given the key to when he’d checked in on his arrival in Cardiff late yesterday afternoon.  He’d been shocked by the posh hotel he’d been put up in, because who spends this kind of money on someone interviewing for a job? 

Certainly, he’d done his research…well, he’d had certain members of his family do it for him after his boss had called him into his office three days ago.  He’d been given a plane ticket, reservation information, and the news that Assistant Director Skinner had sent in Patrick’s resume to Torchwood, saying it was a job better suited to his family background.

After he’d heard back from his father and his uncle, Patrick had to agree.  Although he’d been curious just how his boss had found out about his family since all of that stuff had been classified out the ass. 

It wasn’t that Patrick didn’t enjoy working for the Feds.  It was just that he’d been hoping for a bit more excitement, and to be able to use his skills in other ways that didn’t entail him sitting on his rear at a desk doing research or spending time in the lab or the gun range, when he’d been approached to join the Bureau after his second tour in Afghanistan. 

Honestly, there were days when he believed he should have stayed in the damned Army.  At least he’d been able to spend his time _doing_ things, even if it meant getting sand where sand shouldn’t be and checking his boots for scorpions every morning. 

Or he should have waited until a better offer had come along.  After all, it wasn’t as if there weren’t already a bunch of acronyms in his immediate family.  But hey…it was the FBI, where his Dad had spent his career, and where his grandfather had gotten his start before circumstances had forced him to leave. 

Still, it seemed to have led Patrick to what could conceivably be his dream job even if he wasn’t quite certain what that job would entail.  As long as he got through the interview, and got some sort of explanation, today would tell the tale.

The shower was heavenly, and Patrick came out of the stall much more awake than when he’d gone in.  He checked the time on his phone; 7:06am, which meant he had a little over half an hour to get dressed and grab something from the complimentary breakfast downstairs before he had to meet up with his fellow interviewees in order to be taken somewhere God only knew where in order to get asked a lot of boring questions. 

There had been a note in his room when he’d arrived last night, along with a rather large fruit basket, explaining to him exactly what would happen that morning.  No other details, just to be out in front of the hotel at 7:45am in order to be picked up and taken to the place where the interview would be held.  It also said that there would be six others accompanying him to the interview site, but nothing more on them either. 

But then, from what he’d been told, Torchwood thrived on secrecy and sheer hinkiness, and Patrick could feel his nerves jangle from it.  However, it wasn’t frightening; it was exciting, and he couldn’t wait to see what exactly was going on and what the job actually entailed.

He put himself together into his ‘professional’ mode: dark trousers, white shirt, equally dark jacket and tie.  He threaded his holster onto his belt; the good thing about being a Federal agent was that he could get away with bringing a weapon overseas, even if he’d had to check it with his duffle.  He knew he should have informed the local police that he was there, out of courtesy, but he doubted he’d be in Cardiff that long…unless he got the job, of course.   Plus, he had to think that if Torchwood had the cash to set him up in a fucking suite they _had_ to have the resources to make the local cops happy.

Patrick finished getting ready, and was heading toward the door when he decided against whatever breakfast he would have found downstairs and grabbed an apple instead.  It had a golden-green skin, and it was tart against his tongue as he took a bite.  He could really use about a gallon of coffee, but was counting on there being some sort of beverage at the interview site.

He pulled the door shut behind him, hanging the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign over the knob.  He jiggled the knob to make certain it was secured and then headed toward the elevator. 

He wasn’t the first one to have reached the lobby.  The man standing near one of the potted plants had to have been an interviewee as well, despite the fancy uniform he was wearing.  He was a Captain by the insignia on his dress greens, and he held a red beret tucked under one arm.  A familiar symbol was on the cap as well as on the sleeves of his uniform, and it was all Patrick could do not to grimace at the fact that UNIT also had someone in the running for the job he was hoping to get.

The man was good looking though, with dark hair and equally dark eyes.  There was an olive cast to his skin, and he was very well built.  He smiled as Patrick approached, holding out his hand, not bothering to hide the fact that he was giving Patrick the same once-over that Patrick was doing.  “Captain Santiago del Rio,” he introduced himself, with a slight Spanish accent, “UNIT.”

Patrick accepted the hand, noting the gun calluses that convinced him that del Rio knew how to use the revolver he was wearing at his waist.  “Special Agent Patrick Delaware, FBI.”

One perfectly man-sculpted eyebrow went up.  “I am a bit surprised word of this opening travelled as far as the United States,” he commented.

Before Patrick could even try to comment, they were joined by another man, this one in a suit as dark as Patrick’s own, except he wore a steel grey tie.  “Good morning,” the man greeted, his accent British to the core.  “I can’t say I’m surprised that UNIT is here.”  He smiled pleasantly, but that did nothing to hide the disdain in his voice.  He would have been good-looking if it hadn’t been for the rather prominent scar on his left cheek, and the supercilious attitude.  His dark hair was slicked back and his eyes were cunning.

The stink-eye the man was giving Captain del Rio seemed to roll off the UNIT soldier’s calm demeanour like water from a duck’s back.  “Whereas I am surprised that they allowed you anywhere within one hundred kilometres of Cardiff.”  His voice was chilly, even as his expression was pleasant.  Apparently they must have been familiar with one another.  Or at least their agencies, even though Patrick couldn’t tell just what this second man was part of just by his clothes.  

Patrick wondered if winter had somehow settled in without his knowledge; it felt like the temperature in the area dropped a good twenty degrees just in the seconds since the other guy had shown up.

The man turned to Patrick, and his smile seemed a bit more genuine.  “Pardon my bad manners.  I’m Parker Agnew.  Torchwood One.”

“ _Formerly_ Torchwood One,” Captain del Rio corrected primly.

Ah, so _that_ was why the UNIT captain wasn’t happy to see the other man.

Patrick knew about Torchwood One and the Battle of Canary Wharf.  At first, he’d been told that it had been a terrorist attack, much like the rest of the world had been informed.  However, both his grandfather and uncle had had inside information and they’d clued Patrick in on just what really had occurred.  Of course, the rather large robots in every home had been a dead giveaway that some sort of invasion was going on, and it wasn’t his fault that the majority of the human race was extremely gullible about cover stories where such things were concerned.   The stories his grandfather had told him of the Silence had given him nightmares for weeks and had caused his mother to forbid such stories until Patrick had gotten older.

Patrick reintroduced himself, and received the same reaction from Agnew as he had from del Rio.  By the time they’d completed their handshake, the other four had arrived.

Two were French; the young woman, named Margaux Reynard, had blonde hair, too much mascara and was with the _Sûreté **,**_ while the other woman, a dusky-skinned beauty who introduced herself as Genevieve Colvert, had Interpol written all over her.  The last woman was quite lovely, and seemed to be amused by the whole thing.  She gave her name as Leticia Jones, also sounded British, and there was something in her eyes that had Patrick feeling slightly afraid of her.

The last man was apparently Welsh, and was some sort of special investigator for the Mayor’s office.  He introduced himself as Eoin Gwynne, and he had shampoo advertisement hair, a neatly trimmed beard, and eyes that couldn’t seem to stop twinkling.   Patrick couldn’t tell if he was going to either like or hate the man just on general principles.

Once everyone was aware of who was who, a fine sense of antagonism settled over the group, and it set Patrick’s hackles rising.   He took a step back and let them irritate each other; it wasn’t any of his business just as long as they didn’t include him in it.  Instead he turned on his heel and headed toward the exit, tossing his apple core into a handy trash can along the way.  He pushed through the glass revolving door and out into foot traffic, sighing with the first hit of partially-fresh air.

Well, it was better than Washington, DC at least.

It was a bit gloomy though, so Patrick left his sunglasses in his jacket pocket.  He watched the people making their way along the sidewalks.  Cardiff was a modern city, but interspersed with the new buildings were old-fashioned brick and mortar structures, and it was a charming combination.  Of course, they all drove on the wrong side of the street, which was a bit disconcerting, but he felt he could get used to it if he got the job.

Or else he’d get a lot of traffic citations.

As Patrick stood there, a black minivan pulled up to the curb, and if he was any judge it was parking illegally.  A woman climbed out of the front, and she smiled at him as she smoothed down her knee-length blue skirt.  She had to have been no more than twenty-one, with a fresh face that wore just enough make-up to look like she wasn’t wearing any at all.  Blonde hair was pulled back from her face and into a ponytail, revealing nice cheekbones and blue eyes.  She looked like some sort of tour guide in her neat suit and pale blue shirt. 

But then, a wayward gust of wind blew her jacket back, and what looked like the butt of a gun peeked out from its holster on her slim belt.

Patrick didn’t get a very good glance, but there was something off about the weapon that had him wondering just what it was.  The butt seemed to be plastic; it had that shiny and slick appearance that plastic had.  Some sort of stun gun, maybe? 

So, she wasn’t the sweet and innocent girl her façade claimed.  It actually made Patrick like her a bit more, even though he had no clue who she was.

“Hello,” she said, smiling.  “I’m Deborah Morrison.   Welcome to Cardiff.”  

She didn’t offer her hand, but Patrick wasn’t insulted; she was just too sweet to let any sort of rudeness bother him.   “Patrick Delaware, and thanks…it’s nice to be here.”

She smiled wider, revealing a pair of fetching dimples.  “You should see some of the sights while you’re here, Special Agent Delaware.  Cardiff is a wonderful city.”  Her accent was adorable, too.

He cocked his head, giving the young woman a knowing smile.  “I take it you’re our ride, then?”  Which made sense, since she obviously knew who he was and what agency he was with.

“I am,” she admitted.  “And here come the rest of your party.”  She stepped forward, giving the others her name as well and motioning them toward the minivan. 

Patrick was closest and quickly claimed the front passenger seat.  He took a good look around the vehicle while the others were getting in, and from what he could tell this was simply a rental due to the lack of personal effects anywhere.  The only thing that didn’t belong in a rental was the thermos bottle on the floorboard by Patrick’s feet, and he could feel the heat from whatever was in it through his trouser leg.  He hoped it was some form of caffeine, because he was beginning to wish he’d stopped for a cup of coffee on his way out.

Deborah got back into the driver’s seat, sliding the seatbelt around her and putting the key into the ignition.  Patrick put his own seatbelt on, and then settled in to watch the city go by.

“Ms Morrison,” Agnew piped up, “are you also on Harkness’ team?”

The young woman’s eyes narrowed.  “If you mean do I work for _Captain_ Harkness, then yes.  I do.”

“I see that he still hires them young and pretty,” came the snide comment.  “Nothing has changed in that regard.”

Patrick wondered at that.  If this Captain Harkness only hired pretty people, then what the hell was he doing there?  He resisted the urge to run his hand over his already-thinning hair; he’d managed to inherit the Coulson male pattern baldness from his mother.  His grandfather hadn’t helped in that regard, either, and sometimes Patrick felt he’d been double-whammied in the genetics department, at least where his hair was concerned.

“I think you’ll find that the captain will only hire those who are right for the job,” Deborah defended her boss, “and looks have nothing to do about it.  Which means you still have a chance, Mr Agnew.”

That earned her a round of barely stifled laughter.  Patrick didn’t have to look to know that Agnew must have been stroking his facial scar and glowering in anger.  He wondered if the man meant to be hateful, or if it came naturally.

Before there could be a rebuttal from the bastard, Eoin Gwynne spoke up.  “I understand that Mr Jones will be handling the interviews?”  He sounded excited.

“He and the Captain both, Mr Gwynne,” Deborah answered, “although the team had a callout first thing this morning, so only Mr Jones will be available for the first part of the process.”

“But you didn’t go with them?” Captain del Rio asked curiously.

The smile returned to Deborah’s face.  “I’m not a field officer, Captain.”

“Then what do you do?” Patrick asked, curious to know what exactly someone as young as she appeared got involved in whatever this whole thing was.

She favoured him with her smile.  “I’m Administrative Support for the team,” she answered.  “I work our cover story, make certain files are kept up-to-date, and handle any sort of PA work the Captain and/or Mr Jones might require.  Oh, and I also handle the shuttle service.”  That last sentence was said with a soft chuckle.

There were so many questions he wanted to ask, but Patrick managed to keep them in.  At least he’d been able to prepare a little, and he would have been pissed off at AD Skinner for just throwing him into the deep end with no parachute if he hadn’t had connections.

Oh crap, he was mixing his metaphors.

Wait…was that actually a metaphor?

He didn’t know, and to be honest he really didn’t care; only that he was mixing _something_ that should not be mixed.

Deborah drove the minivan through Cardiff, and Patrick enjoyed the scenery very much.  Eventually though they seemed to move into an older part of the town, if the slightly shabby and run-down buildings were any indication.  It was still picturesque, and Patrick wondered if he’d have time to do some sight-seeing, as Deborah had suggested.  This area of Cardiff had _character_ , and he would have enjoyed seeing more of it.

The young woman pulled up in front of a brick-fronted building that had ‘office space’ written all over it.  She turned off the ignition, and then announced, “This is where the initial interviews will be taking place.”

“Why not the main base?” Agnew asked.

“The Captain and Mr Jones felt it best to not overload everyone,” Deborah answered.  She unbuckled her seatbelt, turning to Patrick.  “Special Agent Delaware, would you mind handing me the thermos by your feet?”

“Not at all.”  He unsnapped his own belt, leaning forward to grab the thermos.  He handed it over.  “I kinda hope there’s coffee in there,” he half-joked.

She gave him the dimples once again.  “Don’t worry; there will be coffee provided.  The team practically lives on it.”

Sounded like his kind of place, Patrick reflected as he got out of the vehicle.

The group hadn’t even stepped up onto the curb when another vehicle pulled in in front of the minivan.  Patrick got one good look at it and decided it had to be an unmarked police car; it was just unremarkable enough, being a beige coloured four-door with the inevitable radio aerial on the roof.

Two people got out; a man and a woman.  The man was gangly, wearing a suit – black, of course – and with hair that appeared blond, until he moved his head and then it looked a somewhat pale orange.  He leaned his hip against the car, smirking slightly as he gave them all an onceover that had Patrick smiling and waving back.  While he couldn’t hear it, it was obvious the cop snorted.

The woman walked forward, her stride confident in a ‘take no prisoners’ way.  She was dressed somewhat more fashionably than her partner, in a bronze-coloured pantsuit and a gold blouse.  She was dark-skinned, her dark hair made up into tiny braids that were pulled back into a no-nonsense tail at the back of her head.  She really was very attractive, but Patrick knew from experience that flirting with the police was usually a bad idea.

“Detective Inspector Swanson,” their guide greeted her, moving to intercept the woman.  If Patrick knew his police ranks – and he liked to think he did – then Swanson was pretty high up in the cop hierarchy. 

Swanson stopped just in front of Deborah, and she gave their group her own once-over, looking mightily unimpressed.  “These your new recruits?” she asked, her voice sarcastic.  “They don’t look like much.”

Instead of being insulted on their behalf, Deborah laughed.  “I’m quite certain Mr Jones has made you aware of their CV’s.”

Swanson smirked.  “He did, yeah.  I hope they live up to what was on paper.  We don’t want a repeat of the Cooper Incident.”

“Excuse me,” Parker Agnew piped up, sounding just a wee bit put out, “but what does a cop’s opinion matter in an internal matter?”

“Oh yeah,” Swanson shook her head, “you’re obviously the prat from Torchwood One.  I could smell the disdain from all the way down the street.” 

Agnew spluttered, and Patrick had to hide his chuckle behind his hand.  Swanson, though, seemed to notice just fine and she rolled her eyes at him, although Patrick thought he saw humour in her expression. 

“Tell Jones that I don’t like that one,” Swanson went on, hooking her thumb in Agnew’s direction, “and we won’t put up with his shit here in Cardiff.  This isn’t London and we will only _tolerate_ arses in our city.”

Deborah was smiling.  “I’ll pass along your opinion.”

One corner of Swanson’s mouth tilted upward.  “The others seem all right so far, and I’ve met Mr Gwynn before.”  She nodded toward the Welshman, who acknowledged it with a nod of his own, and a flirty wink besides. 

Then Swanson addressed the rest of the group.  “Just a warning: if any of you pull any crap while you’re here, you will be seeing the inside of a cell.  No cowboy antics or breaking local laws, or I won’t hesitate to slap the cuffs on you…and not in a pleasant way.  I and my partner,” the man by the car waved, “will be watching you all _very_ closely.”

With those parting words, Swanson returned to her car, and her partner got back behind the wheel.  Patrick watched the vehicle pull out, and he had to admit that little speech had just made him respect the hell out of the local LEO’s.  He wondered if they were all like that.

“Why did you let her get away with that?” Agnew fumed.  “In London –“

“As Detective Inspector Swanson pointed out,” Deborah interrupted, a steely tone in her words that Patrick had not previously heard from her, “we are in Cardiff.  Our team is on good terms with the local police, thanks mainly to Mr Jones and his hard work.  DI Swanson and DC Davidson are our primary contacts on the Cardiff Police, and if you are hired you will be expected to interact with them in a respectful manner.  Now, shall we go inside?”

In that moment, Patrick knew that Agnew had blown the job.  While he didn’t know what the man’s issues were, there was no excuse to be that rude to anyone, let alone someone he might end up working alongside. 

That was, of course, the problem with stats on paper…they never showed anyone what a person’s true nature was.  And from what Patrick had gotten from Agnew it wasn’t a good one.

Patrick figured that was one down, and five to go…

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

****

**_29 July 2008_ **

 

Patrick and his fellow interviewees stepped inside the building, and he found himself in a large, airy room that had once been a foyer, but had been converted into a meeting area with the additions of a desk, several chairs, and a table with a large coffee urn and various types of pastries on it.  There was a laptop set up on the desk, as well as a stack of files and what resembled a digital recorder of some sort with a green light on top.  Patrick noticed a bank of elevators toward the back as well as a couple of closed doors that must have been offices.

The young man who walked out of the nearest room, past the elevators and then entered the room took Patrick by surprise.

If he had to guess, he would have said the man was in his mid-twenties, with dark hair and pale eyes.  He was a couple of inches taller than Patrick, and he moved with a grace that had Patrick thinking of danger and power.   And he wore a suit like his Uncle Phil did: like he’d been born in one, and if Patrick knew anything about clothes then he’d say that single black suit/dark red waistcoat/white shirt/red tie combo cost more than he made in three months working for the FBI.  And that didn’t include the shoes or the pocket watch chain looped across the man’s midsection.

A nicely trim midsection, Patrick wasn’t above noticing, because he was perfectly comfortable with his own heterosexuality that he could admit another man was attractive.  He was also glad that he’d decided to wear one of his own suits, even though it was obviously cheap compared to what this man was wearing it at least gave him the semblance of being a professional.

The man stood just behind the desk.  “Welcome to Cardiff,” he said pleasantly, his Welsh accent clear and carrying around the room easily.  “I’m Ianto Jones, and I’ll be performing the preliminary interviews.  Captain Harkness sends his apologies for not being able to be here as planned, however there was an incident this morning that has taken his attention.   He is on scene, or else he would have accompanied me.”

Jones glanced at the laptop, tapping something into the keyboard.  “Please, help yourself to coffee, and then we’ll begin.”  He smiled and then went back to whatever he was doing on that computer.

Patrick wasn’t about to be invited to a second time, and was the first to reach the urn.  It smelled heavenly and was just what he needed.  He helped himself to a blueberry muffin, as well.

“Ms Morrison," he turned as Jones addressed the young woman who had come to stand beside the desk, “I won’t need you to take notes at this time.  The Captain wanted me to ask you if you wouldn’t mind heading back to the base and starting your duties?  You can take my car.”  He handed her a set of keys.  “I’ll drive our guests back to the hotel once we’re done.”

She gave Jones the full force of her dimples.  “Not at all.”  She handed him the thermos that she’d carried in from the minivan.  “It’s not like I don’t have a tonne of paperwork waiting for me.”

He returned the smile, his a bit more restrained.  “I’ll call you if I need anything.”

Deborah nodded. “Oh, before I leave…we ran into DI Swanson and DC Davidson just outside.  She wanted me to tell you that she doesn’t approve of Mr Agnew, but the others seemed all right.”

Jones rolled his eyes.  “Of course they showed up this morning.  And I didn’t even get any warning.”

That comment made Deborah laugh.  “Like you would.”

“Very true.  Thank you for the message.”

She nodded, and then headed deeper into the building, past the closed offices and the elevators and finally around a corner, where Patrick lost sight of her.  There would have been a rear entrance, of course. 

Jones tucked the thermos down by his feet and under the desk.  Patrick had to wonder what was in it since coffee was already present. Perhaps it was tea?  Weren’t the British supposed to be addicted to tea or something?  Or did that not translate to the Welsh? Patrick was curious, but instead of being nosy about it he took a sip from his cup…

And had to lock his knees to save himself from an embarrassing swoon. 

Damn, where had coffee this good come from?  Patrick figured any job was worth it if he got this every day, up to and including mucking out backed-up toilets, which was a duty he was familiar with from his time in the military.  He knew then and there that he would be sucking up to Jones because there was no way he’d ever be able to go back to ‘normal’ coffee again, and he absolutely needed this job in order to get his next fix.

“Just how much faith do you put in the local police, Mr Jones?” the Interpol woman, Genevieve Colvert, asked curiously.

“We’re a small team,” Jones answered.  “We rely on the CID to get us tips and reports of odd activity in the city.  DI Swanson has been our direct contact for years, and her partner, DC Davidson, has been recently read-in on some of our operations.  Both of them are eminently trustworthy.”

“I’ve formally met Swanson but not Davidson,” Eoin Gwynne added, a winning smile on his handsome features, “and I do know they’re good coppers.  They both have an exemplary reputation within the CID.”  His eyes practically twinkled.

Ever since Jones had come into the room, it had been obvious that Gwynne had a crush on him, judging from the grin and the flirting glances.  Patrick had to wonder just what the man had done to earn that sort of appreciation, but then Gwynne would have had a chance to work with him previously if he was some sort of special investigator.   Plus, it didn’t hurt that their would-be employer was quite good looking.

“Now,” Jones went on, after everyone had gotten their own cups of coffee, and completely ignoring Gwynne’s not-so-subtle flirting. “I wanted to give you a précis of the job that you have applied for.  As I said before we are a small team, at the moment with five members.  We are looking for another field agent, one willing to take orders on scene but also not afraid to think for themselves and come up with alternate scenarios that the current field commander might not have seen.  We’ve also chosen your particular CV’s because each of you has something to offer.”  He closed the laptop, tucking it under his arm.

“You should also be aware that there are no set hours in this position, although we expect you to be on base during certain hours of the day.  If you are called in for an incident we will expect you to stop whatever you’re doing – and that includes being caught _in_ _flagrante_ , which will happen.”  Judging from the faint blush on Jones’ face, it had done so to him, and Patrick had to bite back laughter.  “This job is 24/7/365, because the Rift doesn’t care if you’re in the middle of dinner, visiting family, or there’s a really good match on and your team is winning.”

The Rift?  What the hell was a Rift?  This was new information to Patrick, not something that his contacts had chosen to share with him.  Of course, it could also mean that they either didn’t know or couldn’t have found out…or else they’d felt he was a big boy and could discover this himself, which was much more likely.  After all, it wasn’t as if they’d been all that forthcoming anyway.

Thanks much, friends and family.

“One more thing: we are greater than top secret.  We answer to only one person: Her Majesty, the Queen of England.  This means you cannot share with _anyone_ what you do.  Your family, friends, and bed partners do not have clearance to know a single thing about your job.  You need to be able to live with the secrecy this job entails.  If you cannot do that, then you do not belong here.  Is that understood?”

There were various nods and murmurs of agreement, and Patrick added his own.  He came from a family that had so many secrets it was surprising they had anything to talk about with each other, so keeping quiet about his duties would be relatively simple.  Everyone would be expecting it.  He’d hate to disappoint, and if there was one thing he hated more than anything was to see his mother disappointed in him.  That look she got on her face whenever Patrick did anything wrong was his secret Kryptonite, even though he was now an adult.

“Alright,” Jones said, witnessing their agreement, “we’ll get started.  Perhaps Mr Agnew would like to be first?”

Agnew puffed up at that, and Patrick wanted to roll his eyes at his reaction.  While Jones hadn’t mentioned what order he was going to be taking people in, Patrick guessed it would be alphabetical, so of course Agnew would be the first one interviewed.

Patrick was glad of it.  The man had seemed insufferable and quite honestly he hadn’t wanted to deal with it. 

Jones waved Agnew forward, and together they made their way down to the first office, their possible boss taking the laptop, several files, and the odd-looking recorder with him and juggling all three with aplomb.

“So,” a voice said from just behind him, “what do you think so far?”

Patrick didn’t jump at the sudden intrusion; his nerves were better than that.  He turned to regard Leticia Jones, who still seemed to have that amused look in her dark eyes.  He had to wonder what she was finding so funny.

He shrugged, taking another sip of the marvellous coffee.  “I don’t know what to think,” he admitted.  “I don’t have enough information yet.”

She cocked her head, the amusement gone and curiosity replacing it.  “What about everything Mr Jones told us?”

“He didn’t really say much, did he?” he said pleasantly.  It was actually just enough to get Patrick’s curiosity standing up and begging for attention.

“No,” Leticia answered, “I suppose he hadn’t.”  But then she grinned.  “But the whole alien thing is pretty cool, isn’t it?”

Patrick didn’t react.  Nowhere in his talk did Jones mention aliens.  Certainly, it had been a selling factor on this job once his grandfather had explained generally what Torchwood did, but even Patrick knew it wasn’t something you busted out with a total stranger.  And there was no way he was going to share any of his family history with her.

And so, he snorted.  “Aliens?  Yeah, right.  You sound like my bosses’ pet conspiracy theorist, and they banished him to the basement at the Bureau in order to keep him away from normal folks.”  Okay, there were times when the guy had been correct in his outrageous suppositions, but Patrick wasn’t above using him to throw Ms Jones off track.

She frowned then, and it was as if that was the last thing she’d expected him to say.  “Don’t you know what this job is?”

He shrugged again. “My boss handed me a plane ticket and told me to come to the interview.  Beyond that…”  It was basically the truth, and the best sort of lie was as close to the truth as one could get.  Patrick just didn’t bother to share that he had connections within his own family who could ferret out the other, somewhat scarce, information he’d been given.

Besides, he didn’t know this woman.  Certainly she must have the sort of experience that would get her this far, but Leticia Jones was a complete stranger to him.  If he didn’t get this job then he would never see her again.  Some might call it paranoia, but Patrick knew it was just plain common sense not to share anything with a person he’d just met.

“You don’t know why you’re here?” Margaux Reynard asked incredulously, her French accent making the question sound almost condescending.

“I’m quite sure Jones will explain once it’s my turn,” Patrick replied.  “And there had to have been something in my background that made this position something my boss would believe would be a good one to have.”

Of course, now that Patrick was thinking about it – and he really should have considered this even before he’d set foot on the airplane – just how had an assistant director for the FBI heard about this sort of thing?  Surely Skinner’s clearance wasn’t high enough…unless he had more contacts in the upper echelons that Patrick would have guessed at.

By now, the rest of the interviewees had joined them.  Gwynne laughed.  “You just have to love secrecy…you never know when it’s gonna come back and bite you in the arse.”

“And how did you know about this?” Leticia inquired, looking at the Welshman intently.

The man laughed, flipping his hair back in what had to have been a practiced move.  “I worked for Margaret Blaine, back in 2006.”

“The Slitheen,” del Rio commented, with a single nod of his head.

Patrick had no idea what the hell a Slitheen was, but apparently it wasn’t very good.  He wanted to ask, but his training kept his curiosity at bay.

“I heard about that!” Leticia exclaimed.  

“What is this Slitheen?” Genevieve Colvert asked, her eyes wide with surprise.

“An alien family that’s tried to destroy the planet more than once,” del Rio answered knowledgably.  “They would murder their victims and then form their skins into disguises.”

Well, that was disgusting.  Apparently both Leticia and Genevieve agreed from the expressions on their faces.

“That’s nothing,” Leticia said, waving a hand as if to brush off Gwynne’s earlier boast.  “I worked for Harold Saxon.”

Now, that was a name Patrick _had_ heard before.  “The guy who assassinated President Winters?”

Leticia nodded.  “Only he was an insane alien wanting to take over the planet.”  There was something in her eyes that Patrick identified as fear, and he wondered if there was more to this story than what she was telling.  “He almost succeeded, too.”

The others looked suitably impressed.  “A friend of mine was on clean-up duty on board the _Valiant,”_ del Rio said.  “He told me it was a real mess.  Torchwood was involved in that too, although the details are beyond my pay grade.”

Patrick knew he could top these stories.  All he had to do was tell them the story of his grandfather, and how he’d fought the Silence with the Doctor and his companions.  That had been the source of so many nightmares in his childhood, but now that he was an adult he could appreciate just what they’d all gone through in order to save the human race. 

But no.  He wouldn’t, because it wasn’t something to bring up in a room full of strangers even if they might have greater security clearance than he did. 

As the others continued gossiping back and forth, Patrick watched as Leticia gradually managed to wheedle information out of each and every one of his fellow interviewees.  Even Agnew wasn’t immune, when he came out of his meeting with Jones, and Patrick had to hand it to her at just how good she was at it.

By the time he was called in for his own talk with Ianto Jones, Patrick knew they were being played.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

****

**_29 July 2008_ **

 

“Please make yourself comfortable,” Jones invited, waving Patrick to the straight-backed chair in front of yet another desk, this one in the office designated for interviews. 

Jones had the laptop open once more, and the files were stacked neatly beside it.  The metal digital recorder-like thing sat practically in front of the guest chair, the green light pointing right at Patrick’s chest.  It almost felt like he was being painted as a target for some unseen sniper who didn’t care that his victim knew death was coming in the form of some sort of projectile.

Jones offered his hand, and Patrick took it, noticing immediately that it seemed warmer than it should.  Then he shook that off, coming up with three reasons off the top of his head for Jones to have hot hands like that. 

Also, getting a closer look Patrick found he had to correct his assumptions on Jones’ age.  He certainly had a baby face, but his eyes looked far older, as if he’d seen much more than someone in their twenties would have.  Patrick was certain he would have gotten carded at any bar he went to just on his looks alone.

Jones sat behind the desk, resting his clasped fingers on the wooden surface.  He smiled pleasantly, saying, “Welcome to Cardiff, Special Agent Delaware.”

“Thanks.”  Patrick sat back, the hard back of the chair gouging somewhat uncomfortably into his spine.  He cradled his coffee cup in one hand, working on his fourth cup since discovering that Wales had some form of coffee deity, one that he desperately needed to worship.  It only made him more jittery than nervous, but Patrick didn’t care.

“I hope you don’t mind me recording this interview, since Captain Harkness can’t be here.”

“No, not at all, as long as everything is kept confidential.”

Jones nodded.  “Everything we say and do here is covered by the Official Secrets Act, and I do have a copy for you to sign once we’ve finished.”

That was good, because Patrick wanted to hope that this Torchwood team was at least a bit professional.  He also had no desire to have his words come back to haunt him in the future if he didn’t get the job.

“I’ll be honest,” he admitted, “but I’m not really sure what sort of job I’m actually interviewing for.”

Jones went still at that, frowning.  “You mean to say you’re here but have no idea why?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”  Although he did know a lot of the facts now – and could infer a few more – just from what he’d heard from his fellow interviewees, he didn’t know everything, and getting them from the proverbial horse’s mouth would be the best way to confirm what information he did have. 

For some reason, the green light on the machine flashed red, and then back to green again.

“Then may I ask just how you ended up here?”

“I got called into my bosses’ office,” Patrick explained.  “He handed me a plane ticket and told me to come.  He said this job would be more up my alley than just working for the FBI, given my family history.”  He shrugged.  “I don’t even know what he meant by that, although he intimated it had to do with one of my grandfathers.” 

He decided that playing ignorant was the best way to go for now.  Patrick didn’t want to explain about his family until he absolutely had to.  Although he knew they had to have done a comprehensive background check far too much of his family history wasn’t available without certain high-level clearances.

The green light on the recording device flashed red once more, and then back to green.  Patrick frowned at it, wondering just what was causing it, and that Jones didn’t seem to pay it any attention at all.

Jones checked something on his computer.  “Ah yes, I see.”

There was a flat tone in Jones’ voice that had Patrick’s hackles up, and he jumped to the only conclusion that made sense.  “Is my having two grandfathers on my father’s side of the family gonna be an issue?”  It had been, before, and he wasn’t at all ashamed of his family.

The other man raised a single eyebrow, and it was somewhat intimidating.  “If that had been a problem, you would not be here.  I think you’ll find if we decide to hire you that you’re not all that special for having the family background you do.   Torchwood is very open-minded and accepting of all lifestyles.  Besides, I have the utmost respect for both of your grandfathers.  It couldn’t have been easy being together back before homosexuality was legal, let alone raising your father the way they did and it also being an interracial relationship.”

Patrick relaxed just a bit.  There was something very honest in Jones’ face, and he found himself believing his interviewer in this instance.  “That’s good.  I’ve found myself in situations before that were very…judgmental.”

“I can understand that.”  Jones took a sip of his own coffee, glancing back toward the computer.  “We did a complete background check on you the moment your CV came across the Captain’s desk.  I don’t doubt we know as much about you and your family that you yourself do.”

Well, that sounded a bit snooty, but Patrick was willing to let it slide, not really believing it.

And then, Jones proceeded to prove his boast.

“Patrick Everett Delaware, born 21st of January 1979, in Richmond, Virginia.  Father is Canton Everett Delaware IV and mother is Margaret Coulson.  Grandfathers are Patrick Andrews, and Canton Everett Delaware III…known to have travelled with the Time Lord known as the Doctor.”

Patrick started at that.  The Doctor was a family secret; only a few outside their family knew about him.  He was about to open his mouth and demand to know how Jones had discovered that fact, but he was interrupted before he could say anything.

“One of your grandfathers, Mr Andrews, was with the Secret Service until he left and became a journalist.  He was shortlisted for a Pulitzer in the 1970’s for his work on a series of articles on segregation in American schools, and it’s long been considered that he would have won if he hadn’t been black.”  He shook his head, and Patrick could read the disgust in his eyes.  “He truly did some fantastic work on that series, and he should have won.  Still, he has done top-notch writing since, including that collaboration he did with Sarah Jane Smith on cultural differences between the British and American gay communities.”

Jones wasn’t even looking at the computer any longer as he cited his information.  Patrick was impressed despite himself.

“Your other grandfather, Mr Delaware the Third, was with the FBI until he was forced to resign.  He then became a special consultant for the office of the President, where he was instrumental in stopping the Silence from taking over the Earth back in the late 60’s.  That was when he worked with the Doctor and his then-current travelling companions….” He turned and frowned toward the laptop screen.  “Amy and Rory Williams and River Song.”

Okay, this was officially getting unreal.  “Just how do you know all this?  Most of it’s higher than classified!”  Patrick shouldn’t even know it, and if it hadn’t been for his Granddad Canton’s particular form of bedtime stories he wouldn’t.     

Jones smiled enigmatically.  “I have my sources.”

“Well, they’re damned good sources!”

Jones didn’t comment on that.  Instead, he continued, “We haven’t been able to discover anything about your father’s birth mother, despite our best efforts.   It’s as if she’d disappeared off the face of the planet.  There are various rumours concerning her, but we’ve chosen not to take those into consideration.  We prefer facts and not innuendo.”

Patrick had no idea who his grandmother had been.  All his Granddad Canton had ever said was that he’d been married before he’d met Granddad Patrick, when he’d attempted to fit into what society had expected him to be by hiding his real sexuality.  The marriage had only lasted two months before she’d left, and they’d parted amicably, with a promise that she would never let anyone know that he was a homosexual.  Three years later she’d come back into his grandfather’s life, bringing with her Patrick’s dad.  That had been the last anyone had seen of her.  Not even Uncle Phil with all of his connections had had any luck tracking her down, and Granddad wasn’t sharing her name.

“Your mother, Margaret Coulson-Delaware, was one of the best wetworks agents the CIA ever had before her retirement in 1999, and she still does some consulting work even now.  Your father, Director Canton Delaware IV, ran the FBI for ten years before his own retirement in 2002.  You have an uncle, Philip J. Coulson, who is number three at SHIELD.”  He snorted.  “I’ve actually spoken with Agent Coulson, and I have to say he did impress me with his ability to obfuscate.”

“That’s Uncle Phil,” Patrick couldn’t help but agree.  He was a bit surprised that they hadn’t mentioned Uncle Phil’s boyfriend, but then that particular relationship wasn’t in any official record, and it wasn’t all that relevant to the situation anyway.

“After high school, you joined the Army,” Jones went on, “eventually graduating into Special Forces as a sniper, although, that didn’t limit you; you now are considered an expert in both current and historical weaponry.  Saw two tours in Afghanistan before being poached by the Federal Bureau of Investigation…to be honest, I am a bit surprised you didn’t follow your mother or uncle into their particular lines of work.”

Patrick had wondered that himself on occasion, but didn’t admit it out loud.

 “So,” Jones went on, “I suppose this means I get to explain to you exactly what you’re here for, although it would have been nice if your current supervisor would have done that beforehand.”

He wanted to ask more questions, but it appeared the subject had been well and truly changed.  He’d save them up for later, because there was no way he was going to let this lie.  “You’re telling me.  AD Skinner is usually a bit more forthcoming than that.”  Actually, Skinner was a bit of a bastard, but he really had no idea what would be getting back to the Bureau if Jones decided he wasn’t right for the job…whatever the hell it was.

Patrick was surprised when Jones raised a single eyebrow at his words.  “Walter Skinner?  I’ve had the pleasure of speaking to him on the phone.”

Of course he had…

“Honestly, I would have called the man a tight-lipped arse, but that’s just me.”

Patrick almost snorted his coffee up his nose.

“I  called him when the Captain and I added your file to our final list,” Jones explained, handing over a paper napkin so Patrick could clean himself up after his coughing fit.  “I have to say I wasn’t all that impressed, but that’s just my opinion, of course.”

Personally, Patrick respected the hell out of his boss, but the man was so damn cryptic it was never obvious what he actually knew and what was complete bullshit.  Of course, he wasn’t a patch – pun intended – on Nick Fury, and Patrick was at times grateful that he didn’t work for SHIELD’s director, even if he sometimes regretted not waiting to be approached by that particular agency.

“Now,” Jones continued, “to explain just what you’re getting yourself in to.  Torchwood was chartered by Queen Victoria, so you can guess we’ve been around for a very long time.  We’re in the business of investigating alien threats to the United Kingdom along with other strange phenomena, or as Her Majesty put it, “phantasmagoria”.”  He chuckled.  “From what I understand, we did a booming business back at the beginning of the twentieth century, during the spirit medium craze.”

This was confirming a lot of what Patrick had overheard in the outer room.  It wasn’t as if he hadn’t believed the others or had heard the stories his grandfather loved to tell, but it was still a bit of a shock to have it confirmed. 

“The Cardiff branch of Torchwood was created due to a Rift in space and time that runs through the city,” Jones added.  “Our team is responsible for policing the Rift and to collect whatever is dumped here by it.  The majority of what comes through is fairly harmless, but there are times when a particularly dangerous device comes through, and we contain it.”

He took another sip of his mug, and Jones must have already emptied it, from the put-out expression on his face.  “Aliens also come through the Rift and from beyond our world, and Torchwood also deals with them as well.  We’ve had run-ins with the Doctor, so we’re very familiar with him.”  Anger floated through Jones’ pale eyes, and while Patrick wanted to ask what that was all about, he didn’t dare.  Not now. 

“We chose your CV because you have a certain skill-set we could use,” Jones said.  “You have most of the training already that we ask in our field operatives, which is a good thing, plus there’s your familiarity with weapons.  Of course, the sorts of weapons you’d be dealing with in Torchwood would be mostly unknown to you, but you’ve shown yourself quite capable of learning quickly and thinking on your feet.  You could add something to the team we sorely lack, since the death of our last weapon’s officer.”

“How did they die?”  Patrick asked before he even knew he was speaking.

Sorrow flashed across Jones’ face.  “Let’s just say something alien got to her, and leave it at that.”  His expression then closed off.  “The life expectancy of Torchwood employees is notoriously short, just so you know.”

Patrick nodded.  “Pretty much like anyone who works for law enforcement or special ops.”

“Exactly.”  Jones then smiled.  “As I said before, we’re a small team, but we all have to rely on each other.  Not only does the person we finally hire have to have certain qualifications, they have to be able to work well with others.  I couldn’t help but notice that you didn’t have a partner at the Bureau.  Could you explain to me about why that was?”

“When I was hired,” he said, “it was mostly for ballistics work.  I primarily spent time in the lab, or doing research.”  Patrick shrugged.  “I’d hoped for field work, but it turned out the only time I did anything like that was to visit crime scenes.”

Jones nodded.  “You went from action to inaction.  That must have been galling.”

“It was,” Patrick decided to be honest.  “Sure, we caught a lot of bad guys with my knowledge, and I’ll never regret that, but it…didn’t suit me, I suppose.”

“Perhaps AD Skinner saw that, and that was the reason he forwarded on your particulars?”

“Could be.”  For some reason though Patrick doubted it.  While Skinner was a good boss, he was notorious for keeping his assets close.  Patrick definitely fit into the asset category.

“Well, I can promise you action if you’re hired.”  Jones leaned forward.  “Perhaps more than you’d ever think possible.  Are you prepared to handle it?”

Patrick considered the question.  He’d been in Afghanistan, with bullets flying and blood in the air, screaming injured that no one could get to.  He vividly remembered the adrenaline buzz as he waited for the perfect shot, and that sudden jolt when an explosion goes off nearby.   He’d been glad to leave all that behind, but after a while he’d come to miss the excitement. 

Did he think he could handle it again?

“Yeah, I think I can.”

Jones nodded once.  “Good.  Now, one more thing…I’d like to get your opinions of your fellow interviewees.  You’ve had time to interact with them…I’m very interested in what you think of them.”

It was all Patrick could do not to let his jaw drop.  That had been the very last thing he thought he’d be asked, and it really surprised him.  “I’m sorry,” he stammered slightly, “but what does that have to do with me getting this job?”  There were so many other questions that he’d been prepared for; this didn’t make any sense.

“I want to know how you see other people. You’ll be expected to make judgements based on your personal impressions of certain situations.  I’d like to know what you’ve managed to infer from the others in the group in the short time you’ve had to observe them.”

This had to be some sort of test, something that Patrick would need to pass before he’d be considered for the job.  He swallowed, suddenly very nervous indeed.  He knew there were no true right answers to that sort of enquiry, so he decided to jump in with both feet and hope for the best.

“First of all,” he began, “I’d like to congratulate whoever had the idea of including a ringer.”

Jones’ eyes widened slightly, but then the rolled his eyes and laughed.  “You’re the first one to realise that Tish wasn’t here for the interview.  Congratulations.  And that was the Captain’s idea, in point of fact.”

Patrick relaxed a little.  “It was a good one.  Using passive interrogation to see just how much everyone would share with the class.  She managed to get pretty much everyone to spill something that would be considered top secret.”

“Do go on.”

“Agnew seems to be stuck up on his idea of what Torchwood should be,” he went on, warming to the task.  “Honestly, I have no idea what his branch of Torchwood got up to…”

The green light flashed red again.  What was up with that?

“But he really wants your team to measure up to that.  Oh, and I think he and Reynard are planning some sort of world domination scheme, or else they’re gonna hook up tonight.  Either one is truly frightening.”

Jones snorted, but waved him on.

“Gwynne and Jones have bonded over ‘just whose boss was the worst’ while at the same time she’s managed to set up del Rio and Colvert, if the hearts in their eyes are any indication.  I have to admit, she’s really quite good at what she’s doing,” he added in admiration.  “Also, Gwynne is trying to flirt with you and you’re ignoring him, which is just going to make him try harder.”

That got him a head shake, and suddenly Patrick felt kind of sorry for Eoin Gwynne just from the pained expression on Jones’ face.

“Del Rio is a decent guy, but he does like to show off his knowledge.  But he’s with UNIT, and he should know better than to throw that information around a group of perfect strangers.  It’s like most of them: they’re overly sharing, and after you made the comment about secrecy…”

Jones leaned back, sighing.  “You’re correct, Special Agent Delaware, that I did mention secrecy and how Torchwood is beyond the goverment, but there’s something you’re not taking into consideration…that each and every one of you is here because you’ve all had some sort of encounter with aliens and have lived to tell the tale, although you, yourself, haven’t had that first contact experience yet.  Each of them hasn’t been able to tell anyone they know and love simply because they don’t have the clearance.  However, here…they’re with people – even though they are near-perfect strangers – who have had something happen to them as well and have pretty much the same security clearance.  These are exactly the people they _can_ tell about it, because it won’t go any further than this building.  You’re right about Tish being a ringer, and while we were curious to see how much would get shared it was also along the lines of seeing how each of them would work within the group.  You see, while each and every one of them out there is being really too chatty for their own good, they’re also interacting with each other.”

Patrick was stunned.  He…really hadn’t considered that all of the interviewees would have the same clearance and could actually talk about their encounters.  He realised he’d actually lost his chance to share his own stories with people who would understand what his grandfather had accomplished and would know him as the hero he has been, all those years ago.

“We kept you all in a controlled environment,” Jones continued.  “You were each put up in the same hotel, rode here in the same vehicle, and the only times you’ve been separated have been during night time and these actual interviews, and we’ve had you all under surveillance.  We’ll have you all sign the same documents, making certain none of you talk about anything you’ve seen or heard here.    They may be talking now, but once these interviews are over they will go home and not share this with anyone.  We’re all familiar with keeping secrets, Special Agent Delaware…the trick is knowing just who you can trust those secrets with.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

**_29 July 2008_ **

****

 

Patrick sat on his uncomfortable chair out in the foyer, his head in his hands and his heart somewhere in the vicinity of his shoes.  He ignored Jones calling Eoin Gwynne back for his interview, and the others who were still in the foyer.  He could practically feel the sympathetic looks – no, he refused to call them pitying – of his fellow interviewees, because they had to know, just has he did, how badly he’d looked coming out of that office.

He’d blown it.  Patrick knew he’d screwed it up. 

He’d simply not taken into consideration that Leticia Jones wasn’t only there to see what she could get out of his compatriots.  She’d been testing their willingness to trust, to know that Patrick could share with these people because they’d all been through like experiences, and could accept what he knew and had been certain of nearly his entire life. 

Jones had been right: you had to trust your team.  You had to trust the people who were like you, and if they were in the same room with you, going after the same job as you, then they had that level of knowledge and security that you could believe in.  Patrick had been too quick to judge, and he’d failed an important test.

“You don’t look very happy.”

Patrick straightened, scrubbing his hands over his face and then turning to look at Leticia Jones, who had come to sit beside him.  “You could say that, yes.”

She didn’t bother to even feign sympathy; she simply met his eyes, scrutinising him closely.  “You think you’ve lost the job.”  It wasn’t a question.

He shrugged.  If it was that obvious then there was no real reason to confirm it.

“First of all,” Leticia – Tish, as Jones had called her – said, “you haven’t lost anything yet.  Ianto considers every point, not just one little thing.”

Patrick wasn’t surprised she knew exactly what had gone on during his interview.  Jones had mentioned that they’d all been under constant surveillance, and it only made sense that she’d been hooked into the system as well, privy to everything that was going on, perhaps through some sort of earwig or communicator.  Plus he’d been the only one so far to figure out that she was Jones’ inside person, which was probably why she was approaching him now. “I think it’s more than a little thing.”

Tish snorted.  “Okay, maybe it was more than a little.  But Ianto also thinks that no one is perfect, and that it’s possible to learn.  Are you willing to learn, Special Agent Delaware?”

He glanced around, noting that none of the others were nearby.  Del Rio and Colvert were seated in a corner still making cow eyes at each other.  Agnew and Reynard were also huddled in another corner, and Patrick didn’t even want to know what they were discussing.

In that moment, he decided that he could trust Leticia Jones.

“Yeah,” he said.  “I can learn.”

She thumped him lightly on the arm.  “Then don’t give up just yet, yeah?  It’s not over until it’s over.”

“Okay,” he joked, “you don’t have to do gross bodily harm to get me to see reason.”  He rubbed his arm melodramatically.

Tish snorted.  “You’ve been through worse, Patrick…can I call you Patrick?”

“Sure.  As long as I can call you Tish.”

She rolled her eyes.  “Everyone else does.”  Then her expression turned serious once more.  “You’re the only one so far to tumble to the fact that I was yet another test, and I think for that you deserve to know a little something that no one else does.”

Patrick had to admit, he was curious.  He had been ever since he’d stepped out of Skinner’s office, plane ticket in hand, with orders to go to Wales for a job interview he hadn’t even applied for and knew nothing about. 

“There was another reason these particular people were chosen,” she went on, “and that reason had nothing to do with their CV’s.”  She glanced around, her eyes taking in everyone before coming back to rest on Patrick.  “All of you share something hellish, and you don’t even remember it.”

There it was again: that darkness in Tish’s eyes, something shadowy and horrible that shouldn’t be there, not in someone who seemed to be so full of life.  Patrick shuddered; he couldn’t help it, it was as if a ghost had danced on his grave. 

“How can we not remember whatever it was?” he asked, suddenly not wanting to hear, but knowing that he had to.

Tish took a deep breath, as if settling her nerves.  “Because it never happened.”

Patrick frowned. “Wait…I don’t understand.”  He wanted to think she was yanking his chain, but not with that expression on her face.  She was deadly serious about whatever she was about to tell him.

Tish’s eyes darted about the room once more, and Patrick mimicked her.  No one was even near to their chairs, and when she looked back he could see her determination.

“You heard me say that I worked for Harold Saxon, and that he was a crazy alien out for world domination, right?” she said softly.

Patrick confirmed that he had.  He’d thought she’s been using it to get the others to open up, and maybe she had…but he hadn’t doubted that she’d been speaking the truth, even then.

“Well,” she took a deep breath, “he wasn’t just an alien.  He was a Time Lord.”

“I thought the Doctor was the last,” Patrick answered, confused.  At least that’s what his grandfather had told him.

“That’s what he thought too, but it turned out this other Time Lord – he called himself the Master – had hidden himself at the end of the universe.  My sister was travelling with him at the time…and so was Jack.”

Patrick’s eyebrows shot up.  “Jack…as in Captain Harkness?” The leader of Torchwood had once been a companion of the Doctor’s?  Now that he certainly hadn’t expected.

“Yeah, that Jack.  Well, to make a long story short, the Master stole the Doctor’s TARDIS, set himself up as a human named Harold Saxon, and got elected as Prime Minister.  He used a paradox machine to bring the remnants of humanity into the past from the future and proceeded to use them to destroy most of the planet.”

It sounded completely and utterly bizarre, and yet Patrick didn’t doubt for a second that it had actually occurred even if he didn’t think he was quite taking it all in yet.  Tish was just so compelling, with that haunted darkness in her eyes.  “And you worked for him.”

Tish snorted.  “It wasn’t like I knew he was a crazy alien conqueror at the time I was hired.”

“Who really knows the truth about their boss?” Patrick said dryly.  Inside though, he was reeling.  He’d seen the press on Harold Saxon, and the guy had seemed alright.  Sure, he’d claimed First Contact to the world and then ended up murdering President Winters…this was much more than he could have ever guessed. 

She laughed at that, but quickly sobered.  “The Master used those Toclafane creatures to take over the world, and for a year he ruled uncontested except for the Resistance.” Her dark eyes met his.  “Torchwood ran that Resistance.  It was fairly successful for the most part, and when this plan that the Doctor had come up with finally worked, the paradox machine was destroyed and time reset to just after the president’s assassination, which meant that the rest of the planet completely forgot what had happened.  Only those of us who had been prisoners of the Master and were in close contact with the paradox machine remembered what had gone on.”

Patrick didn’t know what to think.  He couldn’t help but believe her; just the pain in her eyes was enough to convince him.  But the Earth had been taken over and almost destroyed…it was mind boggling.  If he wasn’t already predisposed to the unusual he would have had a hard time completely buying it. 

“You were a prisoner?” he asked, instead of the hundreds of questions he had.

Tish nodded.  “Me and my family, and Jack and the Doctor.  It was hell.”

Her voice sounded dead, and Patrick couldn’t help but put his arm around her.  She looked grateful for the comfort. 

“But see,” she continued, “everyone in this room had something to do with the Resistance, even though none of you have any memory of it.”

“What?”  This was another shock, although Patrick should have halfway expected it.  Tish had told him this for a reason, and it should have occurred to him that he’d been involved in some way with what had gone on during that paradox year thing. 

“Oh, not every CV Jack and Ianto received was from old Resistance members,” she hastened to say, “but they only chose those they knew of from that Year.”  Her eyes went to where Parker Agnew and Margaux Reynard were chatting.  “Agnew was one of the cell leaders in London.  He may be an arse now but then…he saved hundreds of people from the Toclafane and ended up being captured and tortured by the Master.  He didn’t give anything away, no matter what they did to him.  I still dream about his screams.”  She said it so matter-of-factly that it made Patrick shiver.

Tish indicated the _Sûreté_ officer.  “Margaux Reynard was a spy.  She managed to get deep into the Master’s organisation and to leak a great deal of information to the Resistance before she was caught.  Jack actually witnessed her execution.”

Patrick swallowed hard.  He hadn’t been overly impressed with either person, but after hearing that, it was obvious that there was more to them than just appearances.  “Del Rio and Colvert?” he asked.

His new friend sighed.  “They were in Italy.  Santiago had taken a job at one of the Master’s desalination plants near Rome, and Genevieve had run a halfway house, but they were both leaders of the Italian Resistance cell.  They’d met during that Year, and when the paradox had rolled time backward…Genevieve lost the baby she’d been carrying.  Not that they know that, of course.”

“That’s why you played matchmaker.”

“I was hoping there was still some spark there…my sister told me about them.  She and her partner had stayed in the halfway house Genevieve was in charge of, and they’d truly liked the couple.  Martha mourned when she realised that their baby had been lost to time.”

“You sister?”

The side of Tish’s mouth twitched upward.  “Yep.  Martha Jones, the woman who walked the Earth.  She and Ianto saved this planet, and no one will ever know that.”

“Ianto?  As in Ianto Jones?” Patrick asked, his mind boggling.  Certainly, just from the way Jones carried himself Patrick guessed he was some sort of badass, but being told his possible new boss had saved the planet from a madman…it was a bit hard to take in, even knowing what he did about alien threats to the Earth.

“He accompanied Martha and protected her.  Of course, Martha would say she protected _him_ , but they really looked out for each other.”  Tish shook her head. 

“What about Gwynne?” he asked, taking the subject back to his fellow interviewees.  He needed time to process what Tish was telling him, but he also needed the rest of the story so he could do just that.

“When the paradox machine was turned on, it disrupted the Rift here in Cardiff,” she answered.  “Rift storms pretty much devastated the city.  But Eoin had been out of the City Centre at the time, and managed to get back into Cardiff and rescue as many people as he could, smuggling them out past the Toclafane and into the Brecon Beacons, where they settled and helped out the Resistance whenever they could.  Eoin was killed while out foraging for food, but he was a true hero to the people.  There had been an impressive price on his head by the time the Toclafane had gotten to him.”

 Patrick’s eyes tracked the others in the room, fitting his new knowledge into the observations he’d made before Tish had given him this information dump.  It didn’t reconcile, but at the same time he couldn’t truthfully say that he knew any of them beyond this room.  Agnew might actually have been a decent person, but his attitude was being coloured by what he thought Torchwood should be.  Reynard’s coldness could be hiding someone who truly cared for others.  As for del Rio and Colvert…okay, Patrick could see them as they were now and what they’d once been, but he wondered if that would have been true without Tish pointing it out to him.   Gwynne seemed shallow and flirty, but that had to disguise the person that had been willing to travel back into the heart of a ruined Cardiff to save those he could.

“You haven’t asked me,” Tish interrupted his thoughts.

His attention came back to her.  “Ask you what?”

“Ask me about what you did during that Year.”

No, he hadn’t.  But did he really want to know?  Was it best to let it lie, to pretend that nothing had happened simply because the memories of it had been erased?

“To be honest,” he admitted, “I’m not sure I want to ask.”

Tish rested her hand on his arm, although Patrick wasn’t sure if it was in comfort or something else. “I can understand.  I’d give anything not to have to remember.”

“Why did you tell me all that?” Patrick wanted to know.  He needed to understand, to be able to fit her story into how he saw the world, and it was damned hard.

A small part of him wondered if this was some other sort of test, but he dismissed it.  Tish was absolutely serious.  He could see it in her posture, and in the set of her chin.  She needed him to believe her, and really if this was some sort of interview testing then he didn’t care.  No one could be that good an actor; at least he didn’t think they could be.

“As I said, you guessed the reason I was here,” she answered.  “And if anyone else figures it out, I’ll tell them as well.  But you also seem to think you’ve failed something when you didn’t share with the rest of us, and you kinda didn’t.  From what I understand there have been some trust issues in the team over the last year or so, and Jack and Ianto are trying to avoid that in the future.  But you were also in the right: sharing personal stories that are technically classified usually isn’t a good idea.”

Patrick nodded in understanding.  “I guess I can see Jones’ point of view, in a way.  It was kinda like that when I was in the Army.  I could talk to the soldiers in my platoon…well, except for the stuff about the Doctor, of course.”  He smiled slightly at her.  “But see, I knew those guys.  We’d spilt blood and had guns aimed at us and I still remember the night we had to take cover in a ditch because we got caught in an ambush.  It was easy to talk to them about things because we relied on each other.”

He took a deep breath.  “These others,” he refrained from indicating the people in the room, not wanting to draw attention to himself, “we haven’t shared any of that.  Sure, we have stuff in common but that doesn’t mean I should be talking about private things to them.  I mean, there are times when I wish I could tell others about what my grandfather did and how he saved the world, and I know in my head that these people I can technically share with and they would completely get it, and I may have lost my chance to brag just a little because I could…”  He raked a hand through his hair.  “I guess I just don’t know what’s expected of me.”

Tish squeezed his hand.  “Don’t worry about it too much, I don’t think any of us do.”

Patrick snorted.  “I just can’t help but think it’s different sharing with a team than with a room of random strangers, no matter the fact that we did some scary shit in a world that doesn’t exist anymore.  Maybe I’m overthinking things…”

“That’s just the way you are,” she answered.  “You can’t help it.”

Their conversation was interrupted by Jones and Gwynne.  “Ms Jones, I believe you’re next.”

Patrick couldn’t help grimacing by how excited Gwynne looked, and he had to wonder if the man had managed to keep flirting with Jones and how he’d reacted to it.  He happened to meet Jones’ gaze, and a single eyebrow quirked upward as he turned back toward the interview office, Tish on his heels. 

He leaned back in his chair, feeling just a small bit confident once more.  Patrick was positive that he never really wanted to know what that other self of his had done to gain Torchwood’s attention during that paradox thing, because he had this feeling he’d be changed by that knowledge. 

And that was the last thing he wanted.  If they couldn’t accept him for who he was, then perhaps he didn’t need this job after all.

But he got the feeling that he’d gained a new friend that day, and Patrick couldn’t help but smile because of that.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

****

**_29 July 2008_ **

****

After talking to Tish, Patrick felt a bit better.

He still thought he’d made a mistake, and that mistake might very well cost him, but this was who he was.  He’d been raised with secrets, and chances were he’d die with them as well, but he would always trust those who had his back until they proved untrustworthy.  Perhaps if he’d explained that to Jones, things might have gone better.

Tish didn’t come and re-join him once she as out of her ‘interview’; instead, she went to talk to Eoin Gwynne, and the serious expression on her face made him wonder if someone else had made out her role in events.  He wanted to get up and ask, but didn’t.

Tish did catch his eye, and she winked at him, going back to her conversation after casting him a knowing look which told Patrick all he really needed to know.

Reynard was the last in for an interview, and Patrick stretched out his legs in order to get a bit more comfortable on the hard-backed chair.  He’d gotten up to get more coffee, but didn’t want to eat more pastry; a caffeine high was bad enough, but on top of a sugar buzz he’d be up and pacing the room and basically being all jittery and freaking out everyone else. 

He glanced at his watch, glad to have reset it the moment he’d landed in Wales, and saw that it was nearly lunchtime.  He’d only had an apple and a couple of muffins this morning; it was no wonder he was getting hungry for something more solid.   Patrick wondered if the hotel restaurant was any good.

Thinking back on what Tish had told him, Patrick couldn’t help but feel his view of his fellow interviewees change just a bit.  They’d all done something heroic in that year that Tish claimed didn’t exist, and they had no idea.  Patrick considered how different Agnew might have been if he’d only recalled what he’d accomplished, and what had happened to him.  Would he even remember that he’d died?  Was that even possible?

No, perhaps it was better that no one had any idea why they were there.  Patrick was certainly glad that Tish hadn’t told him what he’d done.  He didn’t want to know.  Patrick had never thought of himself as someone who did amazing things, but if Tish was to be believed – and he did believe her, she had been so sincere about it – then that was what he’d actually done.  Whatever it had been, it had caused his name to be remembered by Torchwood, and that had gotten his resume a second look. 

Patrick still had no idea how his resume had gotten to Torchwood, but he was beginning to suspect.

A waving hand grabbed his attention, and he stood, making his way over to Tish and Gwynne.  Tish put her hand down as he approached, and she gave him a smile that belied the tiredness in her eyes.  He couldn’t blame her, if she’d had to retell her story to Gwynne as well.  Who would really want to relive all that terror and pain?

“So,” Gwynne drawled, “I wasn’t the only one to take a shot in the dark, then?”

He sounded cocky, but Patrick could see something he wasn’t sure he wanted to in his expression.   “Glad to know I’m not the only observant one around here,” he replied.  “How did you figure it out?”

Gwynne shrugged.  “It was the game of one-upmanship on who had the worst boss…which I’ll gladly concede to the lovely lady.”  He winked at Tish, who shook her head in exasperation.  “Especially after the horror story she just told me.”  He lost the insouciant grin that had been decorating his features, and Patrick could understand.

“I’m not sure I like the idea that I’m being interviewed for something that I didn’t do, even though I did,” the Welshman confessed. 

“That’s not the only reason for –“  Tish began.

“No, I know,” Gwynne interrupted her.  “I mean, there had to be something in my particulars that made me sort of a fit for this job, and I didn’t mark down my glowing personality.”  With his serious expression the joke fell pretty flat.

“Did she tell you what you did?” Patrick asked quietly.

Gwynne nodded.  “Yeah, and I’m beginning to wish I’d slapped my curiosity down.  Mam always said I was like a cat, always sticking my nose in.  Up to a few minutes ago, I thought it was a good trait to have.”  He sighed.  “Do you know what you did?”

Patrick shook his head.  “I don’t want to know.”

He gave Patrick a look that was full of sorrow.  “Yeah, you were smart not to ask.  You don’t really want to know.”

A shiver went up Patrick’s spine, and he swallowed convulsively.  If he hadn’t wanted to know before, he certainly didn’t now.

Tish had started to say something, but what that would have been was lost with the muffled sound of tires squealing outside the building.  The three of them turned, and Patrick saw an imposing black SUV at the curb, pulled up in front of the van they’d arrived in.   Blue lights flashing along the edges of the windshield and the word “Torchwood” was etched into the front quarter panel. 

So much for Torchwood being a secret organisation…but then, SHIELD had those stylised eagles on all of their vehicles, and they were supposed to be secret as well.  Patrick had to wonder what drove either one to advertise themselves when they should be doing the exact opposite…

“The worst kept secret in Cardiff,” Gwynne chuckled.

Patrick was going to ask him what he meant by that, but a woman practically jumped from the cab of the SUV, striding toward the building’s door and flinging it open.  She was Japanese, dressed in a blouse and jeans and wearing boots with heels that were hardly sensible; Patrick was curious as to how she ran in them.  There was a gun holster at her waist, the butt of what looked like some sort of modified Hi-Capa, maybe a 4.3, protruding from the leather.  A perfectly serviceable weapon as far as Patrick was concerned, although he could think of a couple of others that would have better range and take-down power.

Every eye in the room was tracking the woman’s progress as she hurried toward the rear of the building.  As if appearing out of thin air, Jones met her before she could reach the interview room, and Reynard was hovering behind him, as if she was hoping he wouldn’t notice that she was there.   “Report,” Jones snapped.

The Japanese woman stopped in her tracks.  “We were finished up at the site,” she answered, “and we were on our way here when we were attacked by…well, we don’t know what it is, only what it looks like.”

Jones nodded, and together the pair crossed the room toward the door.  “What does it look like?”

She shook her head.  “You have to see it to believe it.”

Jones reached under his jacket, pulling out his own handgun and checking it as they reached the door.  Patrick hadn’t even noticed that he’d been wearing a holster; thus was the power of superior tailoring.  He’d learned that lesson from his uncle, who could be armed to the teeth and no one would ever know just by looking at him.  In Patrick’s opinion it was the sign of a professional badass.

“What can we do?” Agnew asked.  Gone was the smug expression the man habitually wore, replaced by what Patrick personally called ‘soldier’s face’, as if waiting for a superior to give an order.  The only thing he wasn’t doing was standing at parade rest.

“Stay here,” Jones said, his eyes hard.  “None of you are officially Torchwood, and we’re not about to risk any of you in a possibly dangerous situation.  I’ll return shortly and finish things up.”

Agnew looked as if he wanted to argue.  Del Rio actually did.  “I’m with UNIT, this is my duty –“

“No,” Jones reiterated.  “I don’t care who you’re with; this is Cardiff, and you are out of your jurisdiction.  Stand down, everyone.”  He spun on his heel and followed his teammate out, sliding into the passenger side of the vehicle as she got back behind the wheel.  The SUV pulled away from the curb, this time without the accompanying sound of tires being tortured.

Patrick glanced back at Tish, searching for anything in her face that might give away what was going on, but his new friend looked as confused as he was.  So, this wasn’t some sort of test…or at least it was one she wasn’t aware of.

“Did you overhear anything?” Agnew asked Reynard.

She shook her head.  “No, I didn’t.  Jones was asking me questions, and suddenly he was tapping his ear –“

“Some sort of comm system,” del Rio said helpfully.

“– and he was up and out without saying anything,” the _Sûreté_ officer finished as if she hadn’t been interrupted.

“Damn it,” Agnew swore.  “We’re each fully competent, or else we wouldn’t be here!  I don’t see why we can’t be involved.”

“We have no idea what’s happening,” Colvert pointed out.  “And _Monsieur_ Jones is correct…this is out of our jurisdiction.”

“But I’m still Torchwood,” Agnew argued.  “The Empire _is_ Torchwood’s jurisdiction!  Therefore it’s –“

What Agnew was about to say was derailed by the loud roaring that echoed from outside the office building.

Patrick was outside before he even knew he was moving.

From the sidewalk he couldn’t make out much, only a large _something_ down the block that was making that horrible sound.  Almost in unison Agnew, del Rio, Colvert, and Reynard had their weapons drawn, and the four were taking off toward whatever it was coming toward them.

Patrick’s own Glock was in his hand, and he’d taken a couple of steps forward before coming to a halt.  Sporadic gunfire came from whatever was going on, and while he was itching to go and join in on what looked to become a gun battle he didn’t have enough information in order to make an informed decision. 

He needed more intel.

“You’re not going to join in on the fun?” Gwynne’s sarcastic comment had Patrick re-holstering his weapon and raising a single eyebrow at the investigator.  Gwynne shrugged at the silent question.  “I don’t have a gun because, silly me, I didn’t think I’d need it for a bloody job interview.  I don’t relish getting caught in any form of crossfire, either.”

Smart man. 

“Don’t look at me,” Tish held her hands up.  “I’m following orders and staying put.”

Patrick nodded.  “Barging in isn’t going to help anything.”  He tilted his head back, staring up the side of the office building.  Then he smiled.  “C’mon,” he invited, pulling open the door and going back inside, not doubting that the other two were following him.

He needed to know more before he could even think about acting.  Yes, Jones had ordered them to stay away, but the man had also been adamant about needing an operative who could think for themselves.   Sure, Patrick did quite enjoy going in, guns blazing, but there was a time and a place for that sort of thing and he didn’t think this was it.

Many of the people he’d served with had claimed that Patrick was a touch hot-headed, barging in without enough knowledge of the situation to deal with things properly.  That was true to an extent, but Patrick also knew that shooting first and asking questions later didn’t usually work.  There were certain advantages to surprise, but this wasn’t one of those times.

“Where are we going?”  Tish asked plaintively.

“To the roof,” Patrick answered.  “Best view in the place.”

Gwynne chuckled.  “Let’s hope the lifts are turned on then.”

They were, which was a good thing even though Patrick would have been fine taking the stairs.  The building was only five stories, after all, and Patrick was in good shape.

The doors opened and the three of them spilt out onto the fifth floor.  The hallway was empty, the carpet under their feet threadbare and needing a clean.  There was a faint odour of damp that tickled Patrick’s nose.  “We need to find the roof access,” Tish muttered.

“Down the end of the corridor?” Gwynne suggested.

“But which end?” Patrick asked, turning his head left, and then right.

“That way,” Tish said, pointing to the right.

“And how do you know that?” Patrick asked following her direction.

“I don’t, but I have a 50/50 chance of being right.”

He laughed.  He couldn’t help it.

Turned out Tish Jones had good instincts.  They found the discrete door marked ‘roof access’ at the end of the hallway, but when Patrick tried the knob he found it was locked.

That should not have surprised him the way it did, and he cursed as he took a step back in preparation of kicking it in.

“You gonna play the ‘American cop’ card now?” Gwynne protested. 

The question had Patrick relaxing his stance.   “What the hell?” he blurted as he watched the man pull a small pouch from an inner pocket of his suit jacket.

“We don’t need to be damaging private property if we can avoid it.”  Gwynne knelt down in front of the door, blocking Patrick’s moves.  He took a couple of small metal tools from the pouch, and proceeded to poke them into the keyhole.

“You can pick locks?” Patrick asked, fairly unnecessarily given what he was seeing.

“Learned it from my Dad,” Gwynne answered, his concentration on his task.  “He wasn’t exactly a law-abiding citizen.”

“You have got to teach me that!”  Tish exclaimed.  “I’ve always wanted to learn.”

“You got it, gorgeous.”  He winked at her, and then there was a click. Gwynne stood, smirking.  He threw the door open with a flourish.  “Just use your powers for good, alright?”

Tish laughed.  “No guarantees,” she said as she stepped into the room beyond.

Patrick shook his head, following.  He found himself in what was obviously some sort of mechanical room, machinery whirring away around them.  A set of concrete stairs led upward, and he took them two at a time, passing Tish and making it to the door at the top before anyone else.  This door had the standard emergency exit bar on it, and Patrick practically slammed into it, almost tripping on the threshold on his way through. 

Wind hit him in the face as he found himself on a tar and gravel flat roof, the weak Cardiff sunlight dazzling him for just a second as he held the door open for his companions.  There was an attached doorstop at the bottom of the metal door, and he kicked that down so they wouldn’t get locked out.  He could make out the faint sounds of gunfire and Patrick ran toward the side of the roof they were coming from, leaning over the ledge in order to get a better view of what was going on below.

And he gasped at what he saw.

“Bloody hell,” Gwynne gasped from beside him, “the rumours were true.”

Patrick wanted to ask what he meant by that, but he was too busy being in awe of what was on the ground below them. 

It was a dragon.

“Oh my God,” he couldn’t help but whisper.

The dragon had green scales, about the same colour as his mother’s favourite emerald ring.  It was huge, if Patrick had to guess it was about twenty-five feet long, not counting the whipping tail that was a dangerous weapon on its own.  A large head on a long neck twisted this way and that, angry-looking cat-like eyes watching the dodging team as they tried to herd it, the guns they were using seemingly having no effect; Patrick thought he could hear the faint sounds of bullets ricocheting off the creature’s scales.

It was a magnificent beast.

It was closer now than it had been from the ground, less than a block away from the building.  Patrick watched as the people darting around the dragon tried to contain it, but the creature was far too large and too powerful for them to gain control of it.

Giant green wings mantled, sounding like leather sheets snapping in the wind, and Patrick heard an unmistakable hiss as the dragon bared its sharp teeth.

“Why doesn’t it fly away?” Gwynne asked.  He sounded upset, and Patrick turned to regard him, wondering the same thing.  The Welshman looked almost angry as he watched what was going on below. “There have been stories for years that a dragon was living in Cardiff…we even had an American television film crew for a bit trying to search for it, although they never found anything.”

“What will happen to it if Torchwood captures it?” Patrick asked.   Something that wonderful shouldn’t be destroyed, he suddenly thought.  It should be free, and alive.

The dragon seemed to call to him in a way Patrick couldn’t put his finger on.  Perhaps it was the wildness of the creature, or the simple mysticism it represented, but he just couldn’t deal with the idea of it being a prisoner, or killed outright.

“They won’t kill him,” Tish assured him.  “They only kill what’s a danger to innocent people.  They’ll try to capture him first, try to work out his intentions, and then maybe find a place where he can be safe.”

Patrick wondered vaguely why Tish was referring to the dragon as ‘he’, but put it from his mind.  “They’re only gonna piss it off more if they keep shooting at it.”

“We can’t let it be hurt,” Gwynne vowed.  “It’s just a creature and it’s acting out of fear.”

Patrick tended to agree with him, although he couldn’t quite put his finger on why he did.  “We need to find a way to subdue it,” he declared.  “It needs to be protected.”

“What should we do?” Tish asked.

Patrick leaned farther over the edge of the roof.  He looked at the dragon…then at the alley that ran beside the building…and then back at the dragon once more.  “Well, if bullets aren’t working, then maybe we should try the proverbial blunt object?”

The bare bones of a plan began to form in his head, and Patrick couldn’t help but grin.

 

**********

 

After everything was said and done, Patrick and his two new friends made their way down from the roof, only to be stopped in the foyer by a tall man in a military greatcoat and a jawline that most actors would be jealous of and would pay good money to have.  He was standing just inside the foyer, the Japanese woman and another man taking up position just behind him and the other four interviewees grouped off to the side. 

Patrick wondered where Jones was, and was worried about the man, but before he could ask the greatcoat-wearing man seemingly in charge barked, “Whose brilliant idea was it to take out a rampaging dragon with a desk chair, a coffee urn, and a fire extinguisher?”

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is the last chapter of this particular story. I hope you all enjoyed it! Up next I'll be posting my Long Live Ianto Big Bang story, "The Breaking". It's my Dragon-verse version of Children of Earth, and I'm very excited about it. That should start posting tomorrow. :)

 

**_29 July 2008_ **

****

 

Patrick found himself standing at attention at the man’s sharp tone.  He opened his mouth to answer but Tish beat him to it.

“It was Patrick’s,” she volunteered, “but Eoin and I helped.”

“I picked the lock on the roof access door,” Gwynne said proudly.  “And I helped lug the rocket up to the roof.”

The man’s eyebrow went up.  “Is that what you’re calling the…device…that you launched at the dragon?”

Patrick didn’t have to see the cheeky grin that Gwynne was wearing in order to know it was there.  “It went off like one, didn’t it?”

“A fire-extinguisher-powered missile,” Tish laughed.  “Sure, it was a waste of Ianto’s coffee...”

“Which is a serious crime,” the man standing behind the guy in the coat groused.  The Japanese woman elbowed him in the ribs, and his exclamation, “Tosh!” told Patrick her name.

Patrick did have to go along with the guy.  That coffee had been _amazing_.

The leader – and Patrick had no doubt that this was Captain Jack Harkness, the head of Torchwood Cardiff – shifted enough to rest his hands on his hips, flipping his coat around to his back rather flamboyantly.  “I still don’t understand why this seemed like a good idea to any of you.”

“Well,” Patrick spoke up, before his companions could condemn him anymore, “bullets weren’t working, and I really didn’t want it to be hurt more than necessary, so I wondered if a proverbial boot to the head would do the job.  The coffee urn was the heaviest thing I could think of that was portable, and we used the desk chair to roll it up to the roof.  The fire extinguisher…well, that was Tish’s idea, to give it a bit more of a punch.”  If he was going down then he thought it only fair to take his companions in crime down with him, since they were both so quick to throw him under the bus, as it were. 

Besides, Tish was their mole among the interviewees.  There was a part of Patrick that took perverse pleasure in getting her into a bit of trouble.

He did have to wonder why she wasn’t on the actual team though.  Patrick thought she’d do a fantastic job.

“So you thought beaning it over the head with a homemade rocket was the best decision that could be made?” Harkness was practically glaring at him.

Patrick felt as if he were being grilled by his old Army drill sergeant.  “Yes Sir.”

“Even though you were told specifically to stay back from the fighting?”

Patrick shrugged.   “Well, we didn’t technically leave the building.  So you could say we did obey the order…in a way.”

He risked a glance over to the group of four watching from the sidelines.  Agnew was looking smug, while Reynard seemed to be amused.  Both Colvert and del Rio appeared to be surprised at the whole thing.

Harkness’ eyes narrowed, and then…

He began to laugh.

Patrick was taken aback by the reaction.  It was the last thing he’d been expecting. 

“That really was brilliant,” the Captain chuckled.  “And you were right…bullets weren’t working.  But what you came up with…the three of you…I can honestly say it never would have occurred to me.  Congratulations.”

Patrick felt himself relaxing despite his instinct to stay at attention.  That hadn’t been the response he’d been expecting at all.  “Thank you?” he said, his voice unintentionally making it a question.

He felt Tish put her arm around his shoulders, and heard Gwynne laughing beside him.  A grin that Patrick knew had to be silly spread across his face. 

Then he looked back at Harkness.  “We didn’t hurt it too badly, did we?”

Harkness waved a hand dismissively.   “More surprise, but that was good enough.  Although we now have a dragon that smells like coffee…”  There was something in the man’s eyes that Patrick could have sworn was lust, but it couldn’t have been…

Could it?

“What do you plan on doing with it?” Agnew asked.  “It’s a dangerous creature!”

Harkness turned to regard him, his expression going just this side of chilly.  “And what do you suggest I do with him, Mr Agnew?”

Once again, someone quantified the dragon as a “he”; first Tish, and now Harkness.  Patrick frowned, wondering if there was something they knew, some piece of information that no one else had. 

He decided yes, they definitely did.

“It’s obvious,” Agnew answered, pulling himself up and straightening his shoulders, as if proud to be asked for his opinion, “there’s no way you can keep it captive, unless your base is bigger than I believe it to be.  So there’s only one alternative –“

Patrick lost every feeling of goodwill he’d had toward the former Torchwood operative.  “You can’t mean what I think you mean!” he exploded, stepping out from under Tish’s arm and glowering at Agnew.  “You can’t be thinking about killing it!”

“That dragon has been a fixture in Cardiff for years,” Gwynne added angrily.  “We’ve had rumours of it for a long time, and it’s never hurt anyone!  Hell, we even had an American film crew come looking for it!  It’s a symbol of Cardiff, and you’re touching it over my dead body!”

Agnew opened his mouth to answer, but Harkness cut him off.  “Are you aware that Torchwood One had a dragon in custody?”  His voice had levelled out, and Patrick frowned.

“No, I wasn’t,” the man said.  “How do you know?”

“That doesn’t matter,” Harkness blew him off.  “What does, is that Yvonne Hartman had her experimented on, until she went insane.  Mister Agnew, we asked you to come to Cardiff in hopes that you would be different from your Torchwood One associates.  I see that we were wrong, especially if you think killing an innocent, scared creature is a good idea.”

“There are things that are just too dangerous to let be,” Agnew argued, turning red in the face, outlining the terrible scar on his cheek.  “You honestly don’t think that thing will just fly off and leave this city alone?”

“It has so far,” Gwynne commented.

“But it did finally attack!  Do you even know why?  And what makes you think it won’t do it again?” 

“Enough!” Harkness snapped.  The woman, Tosh, left her place behind her leader, and Patrick would have followed her movements if not for him being far more interested in what was going on in front of him.  “First of all, it’s not your – or anyone not affiliated with Torchwood Cardiff – call to make.  It’s ours.  Now, let’s finish the interview process, shall we?”  He suddenly went from anger to charming, and Patrick wondered if the man was always that mercurial.

“I want to talk with Delaware, Gwynne, and darling Tish first,” the Captain went on, giving Tish a wink. 

Tish rolled her eyes, huffing in amusement.  “That’s not going to get you anywhere, Jack,” she teased, putting her hands on her hips.  “Do I have to tell Martha on you?”

“Heaven forbid!” Jack mock-gasped.  He turned to the other four interviewees.  “Lovely Ms Jones is a dear friend of mine,” he explained.  “I asked her to do me a favour and come help us out, and she was glad to.”

Reynard laughed.  “You mean she was a plant?”  The French woman didn’t seem particularly bothered by it.

“She was indeed.”  Harkness stepped forward, and took Tish’s hand.  He kissed the back of it gallantly. “And she did an admirable job.”

“Thank you, Jack,” Tish grinned.

“I’m going to leave the rest of you with my colleagues,” Harkness went on.  “This is Owen Harper –“

“ _Doctor_ Owen Harper,” the man standing behind Harkness grumbled.

“And another very lovely lady, Dr Toshiko Sato,” Harkness finished, as if Harper hadn’t spoken at all.

“Tosh gets a title and I don’t,” Harper snarked.

The Japanese woman reappeared, four Styrofoam cups clustered in her long-fingered hands.  “I thought we could have some coffee while we wait,” she said pleasantly, passing out the cups to the others.

“In the meantime,” Harkness said, “I want to speak to Delaware and Gwynne about their approach to taking down possible threats.”  With that, he swept by, his long coat swirling about his legs.

Patrick wondered just why he was wearing that thing, when it was summer.  Although he had to admit to himself that it was quite impressive.

He followed almost against his will.  Harkness had a presence about him, and it really did remind Patrick of some of his former commanding officers.  He guessed that the rank Harkness claimed was a true one, just from his vaguely military bearing. 

And so, he went, and Harkness ushered them into the room where Jones had been performing his interviews.  He plopped himself down in the chair behind the desk, propping his feet up on the desktop, and suddenly the man wasn’t so military after all. 

Just how many sides were there to Captain Jack Harkness?

“Now,” he began, “I have a problem.  I only need one person on my team, but you two have shown that you might just fit in.  So…how do I choose?”

Gwynne smirked.  “I really can’t take much credit for the rocket, Captain,” he answered honestly.  “That was mostly all down to Patrick here.”

“I understand that,” Harkness said.  Those blue eyes were looking at Patrick as if the Captain was trying to peer into his soul.  “And I have to say it doesn’t surprise me, given who you are, Special Agent Delaware.”

Patrick actually bristled at that.  “I’m not here because of who I happen to be related to –“

“No, you’re here on your own merit,” Harkness replied calmly in the face of Patrick’s irritation.  “Although, don’t get me wrong…we can certainly use closer ties to some of the world’s other secret agencies.”

Gwynne stared at him as if reassessing what little he knew about Patrick.  Then he winked, and Patrick felt a bit better.

“Of course, then there’s Mr Gwynne,” Harkness went on.  “Having someone with contacts in the government is never a bad thing.  You’re also Cardiff born and bred, which means you’re used to seeing weird shit happen on nearly a daily basis.  You’ve investigated your fair share of Rift events.”

It was Patrick’s turn to reassess his perception of Eoin Gwynne.  If Torchwood had been in Cardiff for generations, then of course there would be some people who might have an idea that the city wasn’t just the capitol city of Wales, that there were things going on that no one really knew about.  He thought back on Gwynne’s comment about Torchwood being the ‘worst kept secret in Cardiff’ and had to consider that there could be something to that notion. 

“You both also seem to have the same mentality I’m looking for,” Harkness continued.  “You didn’t feel the need to go in guns blazing, like the others did.”  He narrowed his eyes at Patrick.  “Although that surprises me in your case, Patrick…may I call you Patrick?”

Patrick nodded.

“I understand that your speciality is in weaponry.  I would have thought you would rely on that to approach a probable threat.”

Patrick really didn’t have anything to say about that; Harkness was right about him.  “Usually,” he admitted, “but what I had on me wasn’t working for anyone else, so I had to improvise.”

“It was a damned good improvisation.”

Patrick tilted his head down in acknowledgement.  He was pretty pleased by how it came out, himself.  “I still couldn’t have done it without Gwynne and Tish.”

“Yeah, and Tish and I are gonna have a talk about that.”  Harkness gave her a glare.

She simply smiled impishly, and didn’t say anything.

“But Mr Gwynne,” he took his booted feet down from the desk, swivelling in the chair enough in order to rest  his clasped hands on the surface, “I did notice that you seemed to be flirting quite a bit with our Mr Jones.”  Patrick didn’t like the look in his eyes at all, and suddenly felt sorry for his new partner in crime.

There was something in Gwynne’s expression…well, the only way Patrick could describe it was ‘fanboy-ish’, like the way his uncle got when he was talking about Captain America.   “Yeah, I couldn’t help myself.  Mister Jones has a reputation in the Lord Mayor’s office, and I’ve seen him there a couple of times…I just couldn’t help myself.  It was a pleasure to finally meet him in person.”  The tips of the Welshman’s ears turned pink.

Patrick hid his snicker behind his hand.  The last thing he wanted to do was fuel what looked to be an explosion from Harkness, judging from the thunderous expression growing on his face.  He wondered why the idea of Gwynne flirting would cause that sort of reaction.

“Jack,” Tish warned.

“I don’t appreciate that sort of thing in my Torchwood,” Harkness growled.  “We are a highly professional team and that sort of harassment is frowned upon.”

Gwynne paled suddenly, but before he could scramble to say something Tish was waggling a finger in Harkness’ direction.  “Stop it, Jack.   There was no way Eoin could know that you and Ianto are together.  Don’t scare him off like that with that jealous streak of yours.”

Harkness sat up straight.  “I don’t get jealous!”

Tish coughed, the word ‘bullshit’ clearly audible.  “Don’t let him get to you,” she told Gwynne.  “He flirts all the time, he’s just bothered that you tried to poach his territory.”

Well, now that was interesting.  It made Patrick think back on his interview with Jones, and he put this new information together with their discussion about how open Torchwood was.  He immediately felt bad about accusing Jones of being against same-sex couples. 

Still, it was funny seeing Gwynne looking as if he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar over his blatant flirting.

Gwynne seemed to recover quickly though.  “Then I apologise, Captain Harkness,” he said sincerely.  “I wasn’t aware that you and Mr Jones were a couple.”

Harkness looked mollified by that. 

“As for who you should choose for the team,” Gwynne added, “if you don’t mind me saying it, you should really go with Patrick here.  He came up with the idea of the rocket, and yet he still wants to pass the acclaim around.”

“Excuse me?” Patrick exclaimed.

“Well, it’s true.  Besides, even if I don’t get onto the team, I can still work with Torchwood on occasion.   You won’t bruise my ego if I’m not hired.”  He shrugged.  “Well, not much anyway.  I’m not saying I don’t want the job, but I think the best man for it is…you.”

Patrick was touched.  “I think I need to take you out for a drink.”

Gwynne – Eoin – grinned.  “Just remember I don’t put out on the first date.”

He rolled his eyes, laughing.  “Sorry friend, you’re not my type.”

“You mean handsome and sexy?”

Harkness was laughing as well.  “Alright, you two.” He stood up, holding his hand out.  “Patrick Delaware, welcome to Torchwood.  Don’t make me regret this decision.”

Patrick shook on it.  He certainly hoped that he wouldn’t do anything of the sort.

 

**********

 

Patrick made it back to the hotel, tired down to his bones and slightly drunk. 

He stripped his tie off, and then removed his gun from its holster and set it onto the bedside table, along with his phone.  Toeing off his shoes he collapsed onto the bed, sighing mightily and almost too tired to move anymore.

But there was one more thing he needed to do.

Groaning, he sat back up and collected his phone.  He dialled a very familiar number, slumping back onto the mattress while it rang.

_“Did you get the job?”_

Patrick was too tired to roll his eyes at the familiar tone.  “You set me up, Granddad.”

He’d had plenty of time to think while waiting for his new team to clear away the four others who didn’t make the cut.  When they’d come out of the office, Patrick had been surprised to see all four asleep in various positions, while Tish had been mad and had accused Harkness – Jack – of ruining her matchmaking efforts.  Patrick had received a crash course in Torchwood’s amnesia pills from the rather acerbic Owen Harper while Jack and a returned Ianto Jones had bundled the four up in the van.   Harper and Jones had then driven them away, Jack explaining that they’d end up on their flights home, with no idea of how they’d gotten there; except for Agnew, who was going to be put on the next train to London. 

Patrick wasn’t sad to see that bastard go.

Then he’d been taken out to lunch to celebrate, and if he’d been a bit leery of the beer he’d been given, well he thought he had a good reason to be.

They let Eoin keep his memories, which was a good thing in Patrick’s opinion.  He knew he’d found a good friend in the Welshman, and hoped to get to know him and Tish better.  Unfortunately Tish lived in London with her family, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t call each other.

It had been during a visit to yet another bar – or pub as he found out was the correct term – that Patrick had come to the realisation of just how his resume had gotten to Torchwood, and Jones had admitted that it hadn’t come from his boss at the FBI.

There was laughter over the line, made a bit tinny by distance. _“Took you long enough to figure that out,”_ his Granddad Canton answered.  

“You could have clued me in before I made a fool out of myself.”

_“And make it easy?  Since when have I ever done that, Patrick?”_

He had a point.  Canton Everett Delaware III had a habit of keeping things pretty close to the chest.

“Well, you’ll be happy to know I’ve been hired.   I get to see the base in the morning.”

_“Good.  It’s a much better place for you to be than the FBI.”_

“You could have just asked Uncle Phil to hire me.”

_“And give up my goal of having family in every major alien-hunting agency on the planet?”_

Patrick barked a laugh.  “You still have a couple to go.”

_“That’s what great-grandkids are for.”_

 Patrick stifled his sigh.  He knew that his entire family wished that he’d find a nice girl to settle down and have children with, since it appeared as if his Uncle Phil wasn’t going to oblige.  He seriously doubted this new job would lend itself to that, either.

“I’m gonna go to sleep, Granddad.  I’m exhausted and we went on a pub crawl to celebrate me getting hired.” 

He didn’t mention the dragon.  He’d asked Jones and Jack about it, but both of them looked cagey and changed the subject.  Patrick really hoped that they’d let it go.

Granddad Canton laughed again.  _“Go to bed and I’ll share the good news. Call back when you know that you’re going to do with your apartment in DC.”_

“Will do.”  Jones had mentioned a moving allowance, and Patrick planned on going hunting for a new place as soon as he could.  While the hotel room was nice, he really wanted his own space.  Being in a strange place did things to his situational awareness.  “Tell Mom and Dad I’ll call them tomorrow, okay?”

_“Sure will, Patrick.  Talk to you later, son.”_

“Bye, Granddad.”

Patrick hung up, and flung his phone back onto the side table.  With a deep sigh, he curled up and decided that anything else he needed to think about could wait.

Right now, even his excitement about a new chapter in his life beginning could keep him awake.

His last thought before sleep took him, Patrick wondered just exactly what he’d gotten himself in to…

 

 

 

 


End file.
